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GLEANER 



Established 1901 



Delaware Valley College of Science and Agriculture 
Doylestown, Pa. 18901 

Spring-Summer 1974 

CO-EDITORS 

Ray D. Blew 74 
Ana Simon '75 



Typing 

Ana Simon 

Ray D. Blew 



Art 

Eric Wolfe 
Ray D. Blew 

Layout 

Ray D. Blew 

Ana Simon 

Ed Biddle 

Bob Palazzi 



Photography 

James Forsythe 
Ray D. Blew 



Faculty Contributors 

Peter Glick 

Edward O'Brien, Jr. 

George Keys 



Faculty Advisors 

George Keys 

Edward O'Brien, Jr. 

John Mertz 



STUDENT CONTRIBUTORS 

Vedgey Gardeneer Arthur Collins Nico Adiku 

Ana Simon Bob Palazzi John Standing 

Ray D. Blew Stephanie Schucher Richard C. Ziemer 



The Gleaner is published during the scholastic year by the 
students of Delaware Valley College of Doylestown, Pennsylvania. 
The Gleaner is a student publication, and the opinions expressed 
within are not necessarily those of the Gleaner staff or adminis- 
tration. Neither the college nor staff will assume responsibility for 
plagiarism unknowingly occurring within. 



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a v p 7 









New Year's Day 

There once were times I celebrated 

the dawning of the years 

And with each I cradled song and resolution. 

Those are gone times. Now I celebrate 

the passing of the years 

And with each I tumble in dissonance and apology. 

Ray D. Blew 



Muted Sermon 

Call it a good Sunday 

When gusts of great grandiloquence 

Rise and fall distantly 

Out of the village chapel, 

And from my pew on the hillside 

I hear just enough of eloquence 

To teach me what there is to know of God. 

Arthur Collins 



A 




BEWARE THIS WEED! 

BY VEDGEY GARDENEER 

The Horsenettle has shared many nicknames like Apple of 
Sodom, Wild Tomato and Sand Brier to mention just a few. 
Granted 1973 brought us substantial catastrophes. Horsenettle, 
too, jumped on the bandwagon; and when no one was looking. 
Vegetable growers in Southern New Jersey were baffled in the 
1973 season; at every level right on up to researchers and 
processors. 

Horsenettle is a weed that grows about two feet high producing 
clusters of 3 to 4 green to yellow berries Yi" in diameter (about 
the same size as lima and fordhook type beans. These berries when 
eaten are poisonous. 

Horsenettle enjoys home-sweet-home in the well drained, 
friable, sandy soils that prevail in Southern New Jersey. It 
reproduces by seeds. It also reproduces from root cuttings less 
than 1" long and as deep as 12" in the soil. 

When beans are to be harvested by combine or viner, they, and 
all the weeds in the row with them, are cut and thrown into 
windrows. Everything is picked up and thrashed by the viners. 
Anything resembling the dimensions of the bean is retained and 
hauled to the processor's plant. Since the berries are a similar size 
to the bean, they cannot be separated by mechanical sieve shakers; 
nor by hand, because they cannot be singled out well by the 
human eye. 

Perhaps I can site a few possible reasons why Horsenettle 
became a problem in 1973 (It wasn't so before). 

1. Reduced tillage. Minimum tillage has been the current trend. 
Benefits of minimum tillage are less compaction, reduced wear and 
tear on machinery and high moisture retention by the soil. 
Average number of cultivations are down in New Jersey.* 

2. Alternating temperatures. Horsenettle germinates best and 
grows fastest in alternating temperatures as opposed to constant 
temperatures. Great diversities in temperature were characteristic 
of 1973. 

3. Reduced herbicide applications. Because of diminishing 
supplies and ever growing costs, concentrations and/or applica- 



tions may have been cut back by the grower. 

4. A late Fall 1972. The 1972 season remained warm and 
sunny well into November. Weeds not controlled had an excellent 
opportunity to produce an abundant crop of seed. 

There are two known herbicides to control Horsenettle. They 
are Paraquat and Banvel. Neither had been cleared for use on lima 
beans in New Jersey. 

So I say "Get ready everybody!." We can't afford Horsenettle 
getting the best of us this year. 



COCOA INDUSTRY IN GHANA 

BY NICO ADIKU 
AGRONOMY '74 

Cocoa — A visiting blacksmith from the Gold Coast (now Ghana) 
to the island of Fernando Po — a former Spanish colony off the 
coast of West Africa, impressed by rewards of cocoa growing in 
Fernando Po, took a pod with him on his return to Ghana in the 
late 1870's. This was the beginning of cocoa farming in Ghana, the 
foremost world producer. Ghana offers an illustration of cocoa 
farming built on small holdings, while Brazil the leading grower of 
the Americas, provides an example of plantation agriculture. 

Cocoa Tree and Varieties — Swedish scientist Linnaeus named the 
cocoa tree "Theobroma Cacao" meaning "Food of the Gods." 
Botanically Theobroma Cacao is indigenous to the equatorial 
Americas, originally flourishing in the lowland forests of the 
Amazon-Orinoco basin. 

Cocoa can be classified into three or four varieties having 
distinguishable characteristics: Criollo, Forastero, Nacional, Cala- 
bacillo. The Forastero groups include Amelados or Amazonian 
Forastero. This is the most widely cultivated in the world. 

Pests and Diseases — The most prevalent cocoa disease is the black 
pod "Phytopthora Palmivora." It blackens the entire fruit and 
leaves and spreads rapidly. The most damaging is the "Swollen 
Shoot" or dreaded virus. The only effective control is cutting 
down the tree. Another disease, less damaging, is the fungus 
"Witches' broom." Cabsid bug is also damaging. All enemies 
except swollen shoot are controlled by careful spraying. 

Soil and Climate Needs — Cocoa requires a warm, humid 
atmosphere, well distributed rainfall, and heavy, well drained soil. 
Adequate shade is needed to keep soil from drying out. For the 
most part the desired temperatures are found within latitudes 10 
and 15 degrees of the equator. 

The cocoa plants are grown from seeds sown directly in the field 
or the farmer may transplant the hardiest of the nursery seedlings. 
First picking is between five and ten years depending on the 
variety. 



A farmer shows his children healthy pods on a 
cocoa tree which he planted some years ago. 




Breaking of cocoa pods on a 
typical farm. After the 
beans are removed from the 
pod, they are covered with 
leaves and allowed to fer- 
ment for several days. 



Preparation for the Market — Cocoa beans must be freed from the 
firmly adhering pulp which encases them. Separation is accom- 
plished in the curing process. Once cured, cocoa beans need to be 
dried. Sun drying is the most direct effective method. 

Marketing — In Ghana, all cocoa is purchased by Ghana 
Agricultural Produce Marketing Board. It is the board alone or its 
subsidiary, the Cocoa Marketing Company, Ltd., which can sell 
Ghana's cocoa to the world. 



Founder's Day 1974 

Of all the days I could have lived to see 
The vital pages of the Rabbi's life 
Once more reviewed with such alacrity 
Now capsulized in blood by Blood himself, 

It is today. The silent pause accords 
To keep our recent Chairman of Trustees, 
Whose quiet, calculating ways with words 
Traverse again my mental faculties. 

Students, Friends, and Board, sans Chancellor, 
And faculty in mortar cap and gown 
Hear Glee Club's chaunticlettes and chaunticleers 
Sing "Alma Mater" with a skillful sound — 

Say! DVC has rightful claim to fame 
If any judge of pageantry I am. 

Richard C. Ziemer 




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A Question of Nature 

BY STEPHANIE SCHUCHER 

Father, do you know what I saw today? It was the most 
intriguing display I have ever seen. I thought perhaps it was a film 
of science fiction, but it was ever so real. 

It all started when this young person — a man was skipping 
down the road. He was whistling all the while. And he seemed 
quite happy. He was smiling so much. I had not seen a man so 
happy since I saw Mr. Bircher cheer when Dr. Luther died. This 
lad was so sprite, Father. Perhaps his love had said yes — who 
knows? But I felt happy when I saw him. 

An auto passed him in the opposite direction and he waved as it 
sped by. In the distance I saw the car turn around and come 
toward the boy. He stepped off the road when the car neared him. 
After the car passed him, it stopped and two males came out. 
Conversation started but it was of a language that I did not know. 
I saw fear in the lad's face and he started to run away. One of the 
men grabbed the boy while the other kicked and beat him. I 
thought maybe they were hungry and were going to eat the lad for 
supper, but I knew humans weren't usually cannibals. Father I 
could not understand. The boy was crying out and it seemed like 
he was in a lot of pain. Oh, Father I so much wanted to help, but I 
was afraid for my own life. Is that bad? I hope not. Soon the 
blood flowed from his mouth, nose and everywhere. They were 
throwing him around and it seemed like he had no bones. They 
were all broken. When they were done, they left him there, 
choking on his own blood. I cried father, for it seemed so useless 
to waste a life. For what? I really didn't know. I went over to the 
boy. He looked at me and asked me why. That was the only word 
I could understand. Why!? He didn't even know why he was hurt. 

Several cars drove by and all the people rubbernecked but no 
one stopped. Children pointed and mothers gaped, but not a single 
person stopped to help. Oh father, I wanted to help. I tried to 
think of what I could do so I stayed with him until he died. Why 
are people like that? I tried to help. But Father, what can a 
raccoon do? 



— Sonnet to Spring — 

O blade of grass, that comes from out the ground, 
What makes thee grow? It must be some profounc 
Thing, hidden from our eyes, that creeps upon 
The lengthening days of spring, entices out 
The shoots from their cold beds of dark repose — 
Tender young things, so newly formed and green! 
Soon thou wilt form a carpet soft and lush, 
Upon which birds will walk in search of seeds, 
And flowers will sprout up between the leaves 
To decorate the earth anew with colors 
Of every shade and hue. And showers from the 
Firmament will come to nourish Nature's 
Garden, to moisten winter's frozen sod — 
This miracle that only comes from God, 

J. Standing 



A Good Resting Place 

BY EDWARD O'BRIEN, JR. 

". . . like some green laurel 
Rooted in one dear perpetual place. " 
-W.B. Yeats 

He tried to remember the big house as he had known it ten or 
twelve years before, when he was an occasional visitor to its 
enduring charms. And all this time he had not seen it, but the 
house and its people and animals and plants had remained to him a 
vision of what could be, or should be, on a man's path through 
life. A few times every year, was it? yes, he had gone there, at 
Thanksgiving, at Christmas, in the spring perhaps or in the 
summer, because once he had helped the family on a publication 
of theirs, and thus on certain days he was invited back to the 
two-century-old stone house way up in Montgomery County, near 
Green Lane. 

The owner named his house and twenty -seven acres "Bom 
Retiro," which in Portugese means a good resting place, because 
the man had once lived in the Mato Grosso of Brazil, where he had 
won a name by spearing the spotted jaguar along the Rio Sao 
Lourenco. His name was Sasha and he held forth in his place, and 
it was a good place indeed to be at any time but especially in the 
autumn of the year, say at Thanksgiving, and that year of 
sixty-four it was a warm, wettish day in November, when he 
arrived by the stone barn with its four horses within, and he 
looked around at the pasture and the encircling cedar woods and 
at the meadow beyond the side of the house. No other house or 
property could be seen. The renowned hunter, Sasha, was not at 
home then, he could not remember now, perhaps he was in South 
America, but he recalled the fine dinner he ate that day with the 
family and guests in the large dining-room with the walk-in 
fireplace of black iron. Books on many subjects seemed to fill one 
wall, and there were two large dogs and one small green parrot in 
the room. And he sat at the table eating the turkey and wild rice, 
using the fine old silverware and drinking the pale yellow wine 
from the crystal glasses. The precise nature of the talk that had 
gone round the board on that warm wet afternoon escaped his 



memory (as it no doubt should), but other impressions remained. 
An oval portrait hung on a wall— of some lady? that too had 
faded— and he remembered seeing through the window to the 
quiet meadow of weeds and wild flowers. And perhaps it had 
come to him then that here was a way of life that was good. A 
vision of a more spacious life; a higher life, or at least a situation 
that helped to make better living possible. Yet here were no 
servants, no glitter, the house was actually somewhat dusty 
within— neither shabbiness nor splendor but comfort; a house 
roomy, old, peaceful, surrounded by its own secluded provinces, 
and therefore of course very charming and soothing to the human 
spirit. Here people had lived for two hundred years; had put on 
clothing and taken off clothing, had opened and closed doors and 
books, and set tables and cleared them, and planted gardens and 
fed animals and gotten up on horses and come down from them. 
After dinner, when some of the others sat by the fireplace, he 
had gone for a walk in the meadow and thought of the garden that 
grew, or could have grown, the summer before behind the stone 
house. Walking slowly, putting behind the hour of food and drink 
and conversation, he thought of the partly imaginary garden, of 
the blaze of portulaca and nasturtium, of amaryllis and canna, of 
wisteria hanging in blue grace, of clematis clinging, of leaning 
hollyhock; of the red raspberries and black currants, and two plum 
trees and one large green fragrant black-walnut tree, with the 
crows cawing in the late afternoon November solitude. 

THE END 




Spring 

Eve sleeps beneath the trees, 

And a full day May 

Be green above, and leak mint dreams 

To her sleeping body below, 

No red riots of leaf yet Fall 

To break her peace. 



Arthur Collins 



To step the high side of obscurity 

And be back by 13 

No shattered mirrors, witchcraft 

or voo doo 

I may have known I knew 

something I'm sure 

Entered and active at 13 + 2 
With a visible audience now 
I wish eyes could at least 
eat for some people 

Don't be content with content 

Or you'll never know the difference 

And all else is unnecessary knowledge 

A light breaks the shadow 

Hail 13 +4 

But the light seemed to be 

causing thermal polution 

Became creative and passed into 

the dark arts 

Interestingly hollow 

13 + 7 

Numbers are less abstract than 

words nowadays 

Straight and Narrow and Death 

Didn't seem to mix 

Stayed with the latter 

But lately I've considered being 

reborn 

This service is also available to you 

13 + 9=Vi or more 

+ = 1 for such a long time 

Everything + 1 = Everything Eventually 



Roads are relevant in search of 
the destination, but too often 
Directions are not available 
There is no energy crisis 

February '74 
Bob Palazzi 



SW 




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